


fever dream

by convexity



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Bedsharing, Feeding, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spoon-Feeding, protective percival graves, sick!credence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 09:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17343176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convexity/pseuds/convexity
Summary: “Just a little bit more.” He said, and Credence opened his eyes to a tilting world. He opened his mouth for Mr Graves and let him coax the vile tonic past his chapped lips.





	fever dream

Mr Graves was like an apparition, sometimes corporeal and sometimes like smoke or a reflection scattering on water. Credence was only dimly aware of his voice, familiar but somehow distant. Only when he felt the cool touch of his hand did he realize he might not be dreaming. Why was Mr Graves here? He didn’t belong in the church - these were sovereign parts of his world that his mind could not fit together, two far-flung stars separated by an incalculable distance.

Yet he was there, resting the back of his hand over Credence’s brow, moving it down to press againt his cheek.  “Hang in there, Credence.”

Credence thought he could hear Ma calling him too, fainter and shriller than Grave’s voice… it faded in and out of his thoughts as his consciousness brightened and dimmed again like a flame in a draft. He shivered and burned, tossing the blankets to the side only to reach for them moments later. None of his thoughts would stay still. He couldn’t tell if he was dreaming. Ma was trying to get him to drink something that tasted awful, and he twisted his mouth away made a weak attempt to spit it back out. Ma wiped his mouth with a cloth, strangely gentle.  

“Just a little bit more.” Graves said, and Credence opened his eyes to a tilting world. It wasn’t Ma… that was a dream. Or was this the dream? He opened his mouth for Mr Graves and let him coax the vile tonic past his chapped lips. The room spun and dimmed. His throat ached and his dreams were not sane.

When he woke again there was daylight pinned behind dark curtains, struggling to spill in at the seams. His mouth was dry. His limbs ached, but he had a firm footing back in the world. He knew now he wasn’t at the church - that he hadn't been for some time. Because he was in Grave’s bed. There was a glass of water on the nightstand that he reached for and sipped - careful not to spill. It was room temperature and a little stale but tasted sweeter than if he’d drunk glacier melt from a mountain stream. He couldn’t stop drinking - only aware of his dire thirst once he’d begun to quench it.

“Good morning.”

He looked up to see the very real, very tangible Percival Graves in the doorway. Credence grinned sheepishly at him, half-remembering acting strangely and saying bizarre things as if he'd been very drunk.

Graves crossed the bedroom floor and sat on the edge of the bed beside him. He lifted the back of his hand to Credence’s forehead again, his cheek. His skin didn’t feel unnaturally cool as before, when Credence had been burning up. He leaned into the touch.

“Finally. That fever had me worried. How are you feeling?”

“I’m sorry I spit out the medecine.”

He laughed, pushing Credence’s hair back from where it was sticking to his forehead.

Credence ducked away. His hair felt dirty, caked in dried sweat.  Grave’s hand hovered for a moment before he withdrew it.

“Can I have a bath?”

“Of course.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut as if he too was lacking sleep. “Of course sweetheart. I’ll draw you one.”

 

* * *

 

 

When Credence was done he dressed slowly in clean pajamas. It felt incomparably good to have scoured his skin in the hot water, rinsed the oil and sweat from his hair. Still he felt a little wobbly, and when he bent to put on the  pair of warm socks Mr Graves had provided for him he felt a bit queasy and had to grip the porcelain edge of the sink to keep from stumbling.

He headed back to bed with measured steps. The apartment was quiet and still, tiny particles of dust floating in beams of yellow morning sunlight. Credence couldn’t hear the dull roar of traffic punctuated by an occasional siren or car horn, and knew Graves had made it so that the sounds of the city below them were silenced from inside. He’d probably done it for him, he realized, gratitude tugging at something behind his ribs. So he could sleep better.

Graves had changed the bed linens. They were heather grey now under the heavy duvet. How could he have confused this luxurious bed from his own at the church? He crawled in and let his head rest on the pillow, feeling it’s familiar give and texture under his cheek.  Graves arrived moments later carrying a tray in front of him.

“Think you can manage a little food? It’s been over twenty-four hours.”

Credence sat up with his back to the pillows and let him set the legs of the tray over his thighs. He’d brought him buttered toast and a bowl of steaming broth.

“You didn’t need to...” He said, embarrassed. “I could’ve come out to the kitchen.”

“Afraid not. It’s bed-rest for you until I say otherwise.”

He reddened at that. Sometimes Graves told him what to do and it made him feel strange, a nice sort of strange that made his belly warm. Sometimes it did more than that. He was used to telling people what to do, Credence knew. It was integral to his job. But when he did it to Credence, it was always in the same tone, quiet and final and  _intimate_ . There was no way he talked to his Auror’s like that, no way he let his voice get so soft, slipped them a wink or the reassurance of a small touch. Credence got the sense that was reserved for behind closed doors - for  _him._

He was basking in the glow of bed-rest _until I say otherwise_ as he pulled apart a bit of toast. After the first bite his stomach felt very empty. Saliva filled his mouth as he nibbled on the bread like a mouse with cheese.

“Couple bites of broth.” Graves told him, sitting beside him on the edge of the bed.

Credence picked up the spoon, dipped it in the bowl. As he brought it to his lips his hand shook, and some spilled onto the duvet.

“I’m sorry.” He said, setting the spoon back down. He felt weak and uncoordinated. Graves cleaned the little mess with a word. Messes were easy, he’d told Credence before, spills and broken cups were no use crying over. Still, Credence felt clumsy and guilty.

“Here. Let me.”

Mr Graves lifted the spoon to Credence’s mouth. He held his palm under it as of to catch a spill though his hands were always steady enough for surgery. Credence watched Grave's forearms, the movement of muscle and sinew that fllexed under his rolled sleeves, the dark hair that stopped at his wrist. He opened his mouth much like he had last night when he’d realized it wasn’t Ma but Graves giving him that awful, burning medecine. The broth was much more to his liking. It was salty enough to be good but plain enough that he didn’t worry about it upsetting his stomach. Graves tilted the spoon, waited for Credence to drink before he tilted his hand up to remove it, gentle and precise. He repeated the motion and Credence drank, feeling very aware of Grave's eyes on his lips as he did, the strange feeling of allowing another person to take over as basic a thing as feeding himself.

“Good.” Graves encouraged him, as if trying to banish any of Credence’s embarrassment before it could manifest. “That’s it. You’ll get your strength back in no time.”

Credence felt full very quickly. He was talked into one more bite of toast before Graves cleared the tray away.

“I won’t make you take any more of that medicine if your temperature stays down.” He said when he returned.

Credence would’ve taken more if he’d asked, but if Mr Graves didn’t think it necessary, he was sure that it wasn’t. He knew all about all sorts of things.

“And if you agree to some more broth later.”

“Okay.”

Graves smiled at him. “I’m sorry I put you in here, it was disoritenting. I thought it would be easiest to look after you if you were with me. It might have been kinder to leave you in your room.”

Credence shook his head. He wouldn't have known where he was anywhere, it was the fever that had him confused and kept weaving hallucinations into reality.

“Thank you. I feel… safe here. Good, I mean.” He corrected, feeling foolish again. “I can go back… I don’t mean to take up your space.”

Graves waved him off. “You can stay here. I believe I need a nap, though. I didn’t sleep well.”

“Is it because of me?” Credence asked. He felt like he’d been a burden, put him out of his own bed…

“I couldn’t sleep because I couldn’t stop checking your fever every hour. As I said, you had me worried there for a bit.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m just glad you’re better.”

Credence was feeling very tired himself. His dreams had been long and strange, and his body still felt drained from sickness.

“Can I nap too?”

“I think that would be wise. Can I get you anything?”

“No. M’good.”

“You know where I’ll be.”

Credence knew he was pushing it. He wanted Mr Graves to stay with him, but he knew it wasn’t going to happen unless he asked. He’d never slept in Grave’s bed before last night, but he’d convinced Graves to stay with him one night early on. He wasn’t even sure Graves had slept, but he’d stayed sitting against the headboard in Credence’s bed, holding his hand until he’d fallen asleep. He'd felt a little silly, and more than a little childish, but the contact of their hands felt like all there was in the world that night that would stop him from self destructing.

“Don’t go.” He said shyly, a suggestion more than a request.

If it didn’t work he would hate himself for saying it. Graves looked at him, tilting his head a fraction.

It was early morning still, but time had taken on a surreal quality. The quiet of the apartment felt heaviest in the bedroom, the heart of the castle bewitched with a hundred-year sleep.

“You want me to stay?” Graves asked gently. He was always calm. It made Credence feel a little bolder. He nodded. 

"Alright." 

Credence scooted himself over to allow room for Graves to slide into bed with him. He was solid and warm, and Credence pressed his face against the fabric of his shirt, inhaling the sent of him as an arm scooped him closer. He laid his head against Grave's chest, looking up at the line of his jaw, the shadow of dark stubble on his chin, unshaven for more than a day.

Graves dipped  his head down to look at Credence, the tiny creases in the skin around his eyes making him look older in this setting than he did in a suit, even with the grey at his temples. The lines deepened to crow's feet when Graves smiled down at him, eyes near black in the semi darkness. He petted Credence's hair with a hand that felt heavy and grounding, and Credence felt his eyelids drooping.

He didn't fight sleep. He didn't have it in him even if he'd wanted to. He thought he wouldn't mind sleeping in Mr Grave's arms until evening.

**Author's Note:**

> who loves kudos and/or comments? ME, I do!  
> [ say hi on tumblr! ](http://bastardgirls.tumblr.com/)


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